


Catching Signals

by apocryphalia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 22:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20415586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia/pseuds/apocryphalia
Summary: He could no more stop himself from reaching out than he could stop breathing, had he really needed to in the first place. Centuries of careful self-control slipped through his fingers like so much sand in an hourglass.When Aziraphale finds him in a moment of vulnerability, Crowley accidentally reveals his best-kept secret.





	Catching Signals

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back when I was feeling much like Crowley does here, and decided to take my feelings out on him as a sort of catharsis. I don’t have a very clear idea of where it fits into canon or what happened before or after, but I decided on a whim to clean it up and post mostly as a way of procrastinating work on my longer fic ideas. I hope someone gets something out of it.
> 
> Title is a reference to [“Two-Headed Boy” by Neutral Milk Hotel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TudLjZ_4VhU) because the line about “placing fingers through the notches in your spine” was playing on a loop in my head while I was editing this.

His chest felt tight and heavy as he collapsed into the rumpled sheets, the weight of it all pulling his heart down into his stomach, even as something else crawled up into his throat, scratching and burning his insides. He curled around himself as tightly as he could in this unwieldy, man-shaped form, one arm thrown over his face, curled back to weave long fingers through soft, dark hair. 

How long he stayed like this, Crowley had no idea. Hours, certainly, and more likely days, spent drifting in and out of consciousness, like a buoy bobbing along the surface of dark waters, trying desperately not to sink. Awake and asleep became nearly indistinguishable, the same vague visions of fire and blood and sickness and death playing on repeat across the back of his eyelids regardless. Hazy around the edges, like a dream, although they were all too real. Maybe not _real_ as in _really happening at the present moment in time_, but Crowley had seen enough in his 6,000 years that he'd never need to invent his nightmares from whole cloth. 

Distantly, he was aware of an intermittent ringing somewhere in his flat, and later, a muffled knocking coming from the front door. Unable or unwilling to face the only other being likely to have shown up at his doorstep, Crowley simply curled tighter around himself and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the angel to give up, go away, come back another time when he was broken into a few less pieces and capable of cobbling himself back together long enough to put on a reassuring smile and shrug off his friend’s concerns. _Just fancied a nap is all, must have gotten a bit carried away. Nothing to worry about, angel. Tempt you to some lunch?_

Alas, Crowley’s silent emphatically-not-prayers went unanswered—or perhaps the wrong ones were answered—and suddenly, the being in question was standing at his bedside. Crowley could sense him enter the room before he even opened his eyes, could feel the warmth of his presence rolling off him in waves, and the demon turned toward it automatically.

He reached out to Aziraphale like a drowning man to a life raft, like a starving man to food. Like a moth to a flame, a flower turning toward the sun. The angel was a beacon of light amid the dark forest in which Crowley had found himself, a balm to the aching emptiness he had in place of a soul. He could no more stop himself from reaching out than he could stop breathing, had he really needed to in the first place. Centuries of careful self-control slipped through his fingers like so much sand in an hourglass. 

Without any conscious input, Crowley watched his hands fist into the fabric of Aziraphale's waistcoat, pull the angel in until he collapsed on top of him, his soft weight pressing into Crowley's bony angles, the flat plane of his chest. Aziraphale's soft noise of protest was cut off by the press of the demon's lips against his own, one slender hand releasing his clothing to card its thin fingers through snow-bright hair. For one long moment, Crowley basked in the heat of him, pressed stiffly against the length of his body. _Please, don't pull away now_, he thought, half-crazed with his need. _For the love of all that is holy or unholy, just let me have this one._

Then, predictably, the unthinkable happened. "Mmph--" Aziraphale began, wrenching his head out of Crowley's grasp, leaning up and away from the touch. "My dear boy, what--?" Then, softer, catching the pained look that flashed across his friend's eyes in the instant before they closed: "Oh, Crowley. What on earth happened?" 

Crowley shook his head, eyes screwed shut as if to guard against the ending of his world. As if not seeing the horror and disgust that surely resided on the angel's face, not seeing him walk out the door would make it any less devastating. Awash once more in the sea of his own pain, it took several long minutes before he registered the delicate stroke of manicured fingernails down his sharp jawline, the weight of the body still splayed across his stomach. With a deep, unnecessary breath, Crowley slowly lifted his eyelids to peer tentatively at the angel above him. The pale eyes that met his own showed nothing but concern. 

They simply looked at each other for a long moment. Then, assured that if Crowley was not strictly okay, he was at least once more aware of who and where he was, Aziraphale slowly began to move. Carefully, in the same way one might approach a wounded animal, he bent his head to press a soft kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth before attempting to roll to the side and off the other’s body. Reflexively, Crowley’s fingers tightened against him, preventing him from leaving.

“Angel…” he breathed, simultaneously terrified that Aziraphale wouldn’t hear the plea underneath the word, and terrified that he would. His hands pulled the angel down again at the same moment that his head surged forward, crashing into Aziraphale in a rush of lips and teeth and tongue. Shocked, the angel froze again for a moment before his body relaxed against Crowley's and he began to reciprocate the touch, lips parting and fingers gliding from the demon's face down over the rapid pulse at his throat and continuing further still.

What followed was not the coordinated, skillful dance that either of them might have hoped for, but something raw, desperate, and hungry. In an instant, both of their clothes were gone, and neither could have said whose miracle had done it. Crowley clung to Aziraphale, sharp fingers working little crescents into the skin of the angel's back as he pressed into Crowley's body. Crowley's head fell back against the pillows of its own accord, breath caught in his throat, and he felt something in his chest crack open, desperate hopes and prayers long buried suddenly free and working their way into his bloodstream. His pulse was no longer a beat, but a steady, unbroken hum, and every nerve in his body thrummed along in unison. Each frantic thrust broke him into more pieces and then put him back together again. He came with the angel's name on his lips like a prayer.

After, while they drifted off to sleep with their limbs still tangled together, there was still something there, scratching under the surface of his skin. He knew that might never change, but the weight in his chest was lighter than it had been in decades. Crowley allowed a tiny bubble of hope to swell in his chest, and in his last moments of consciousness, he believed that everything might be okay in the end, so long as Aziraphale was still there when he woke.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: I’m also on Tumblr and Twitter @apocryphalia if you want to chat!


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